the same direction. The pawnbroker’s shouldn’t be much further now, and she needed to get rid of him quickly. ‘I think that would be unwise. I thank you for your help, but I no longer require it.’
He fell in beside her, easily keeping pace with her long strides. ‘I can perfectly well understand your reluctance to ride in my carriage, but I assure you it would be wiser than wandering around here on foot. We’ll probably both be robbed.’
‘You needn’t come with me,’ she said stiffly.
He sighed. ‘Much as I’m tempted to leave you here, I’m afraid my conscience won’t allow it.’
She kept walking, looking straight ahead. She knew he was watching her face, probably hoping that his mild statement would elicit some reaction: eyes widened in shock, maybe even a verbal rebuke. She refused to indulge him.
‘You’re right to be suspicious, of course,’ he continued after a few seconds of silence. ‘I wouldn’t trust anyone I met wandering around here.’
‘So why are you wandering around here?’ She knew she sounded accusatory, but, well, what was someone like him doing there, and why had he decided to take an interest in her? Her arm was starting to ache from the weight of her bag, and he’d made no sign of leaving. With an annoyed sigh, she placed the bag on the ground and then crossed her arms over her chest, waiting impatiently for his answer.
He looked as if he found her irritation comical. ‘I assure you, I wasn’t. I was just passing through on my way back from the country when I saw you about to be robbed. Could hardly just stand by and watch.’
‘Oh.’ She picked up the bag and started walking again, now feeling rather guilty for her curt behaviour. He was infuriating, but she’d be far worse off if not for his intervention. ‘I…I am grateful that you stopped that man. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed rude, but I really will be all right on my own. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.’
He nodded, but otherwise seemed to disregard her words. He walked along beside her quietly for a few seconds before offering, ‘I’m William Stanton, by the by. Earl of Lennox, actually, but you needn’t m’lord me.’
‘I won’t.’
She hoped she sounded as unimpressed as she’d intended, but her impertinence seemed only to amuse him. Until a few years ago, she wouldn’t have felt so intimidated by his title. All right, so she’d never been nearly as grand as an earl—quite a few stations in life separated them. But she’d had a bit of money once, and what had seemed to be a respectable family, too. She’d grown up in a rambling brick house draped in wisteria and surrounded by neat gravel paths and herb gardens. She’d never been fashionable—the plain clothes she wore now represented the sort of sensible attire she’d worn her whole life. However, they were well made and reasonably expensive. She’d never had reason to be ashamed of her status.
Only things had changed. The gardens had been replaced by a squalid street, and her unfashionable dresses had become both unfashionable and worn. The one she wore now was several seasons old and many times mended.
‘You might introduce yourself,’ he said, his gaze wandering over her face. ‘It’s your turn.’
She stopped walking to answer him, feeling depressed and defeated. ‘Isabelle Thomas.’
‘How do you do, Miss Thomas. Let me carry your bag.’
‘No, thank you.’
Finally, she’d managed to provoke him. He actually sounded offended. ‘I assure you I’ve no interest in stealing from you. It’s heavy.’
‘No.’ Her grip tightened.
He sighed loudly and then, after a moment’s consideration, began fiddling with his waistcoat.
She turned her head to the side to stare at him, feeling mildly alarmed. ‘What are you doing?’
He made a face at her. ‘My, but you’re suspicious. I’m removing my watch.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re going to trade. I will carry your bag, Miss Thomas, and you will carry my watch. So you can rest assured I won’t abscond with your possessions.’ He held it out to her, but when she didn’t immediately accept it he took her hand in his, placed the watch on her palm, and then closed her fist around it. ‘Now, I’ll have your bag.’
She saw no reasonable argument against accepting his offer, but she still didn’t want him to come with her. ‘You barely know me, sir,’she pointed out. ‘I might run off with it.’
‘Then I will catch you. I don’t recommend you test my word.’
She didn’t doubt him, and, seeing no alternative, handed him her bag. Her arm cried out in relief, and she tucked the watch into her pocket. She wouldn’t have dreamed of running off with it anyway, not just because she believed his threat, but also because that would be stealing. She hadn’t yet stooped to that level.
‘I wouldn’t take your watch, you know,’she said quietly as they started walking again. ‘I’m not a thief.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. What’s in this bag? Stones?’
She paled. ‘If you’re going to complain—’
‘I’m not complaining.’
‘Don’t open it.’
‘I won’t,’ he replied grumpily. ‘Lead the way, Miss Thomas.’
She looked nervously up the street, hoping she remembered Samuel’s directions. She’d written them down and had studied them that morning, but examining them in public would have made her look lost and vulnerable. She knew she had to turn somewhere…
‘Um, left here.’ I think. She started walking slowly, feeling less sure of herself. Left took them up an alley, intersected after about thirty paces by another road. The faded and flaking sign read Litchfield Terrace. She turned right.
‘Where are you taking me, by the by?’ he asked. It was a reasonable question, since Litchfield Terrace looked like a particularly unwelcoming street. It was narrow and unpaved, and the mean houses that lined it seemed to be deserted—or they would, anyway, if not for the high-pitched cry of a baby that carried from a broken window and the rat that skulked along the edge of the road, sniffing for scraps.
‘I’m not taking you anywhere. You’re following me, and I can go the rest of the way myself.’
‘Out of the question.’
And she knew that he meant it. Her footsteps were already beginning to drag with apprehension. Josiah Fairly’s disreputable premises would appear at any second and, oh, the embarrassment…
At the same time, though, she could admit to herself that she was glad William Stanton had insisted on coming. She’d be terrified right now if he hadn’t.
‘So…’ he said, looking at her curiously, ‘I’ve revealed that I was just passing through…what are you doing in this godforsaken area?’
‘Picking daffodils, obviously.’
That comment got her a burst of laughter. Warm, genuine laughter, and she felt a smile tugging at her own lips, even though she really didn’t want to start enjoying his company. But she managed to suppress it, which wasn’t so hard because they’d reached her destination.
Number 16 waited for her at the end of the road, set apart from the terraced houses that lined the sides of the street. Like the dilapidated buildings around it, it had been built right up against the road, without a front garden to soften its appearance. The word ‘Pawnbroker’ had been painted messily over the door, and two dusty bow windows advertised the faded delights inside: some battered books, a garish, plumed hat, old boots and a pair of candlesticks, their silver plating worn thin to reveal the base metal beneath.
Isabelle